SI-541-2008 SI-541-2008 2

Traditional Arts. For more information visit the National Museum of the American Indian’s Web site, www.AmericanIndian.si.edu.

In addition to the inauguration festival, the National Museum of the American Indian will open a small photo exhibition, “A Century Ago…They Came as Sovereign Leaders” Jan. 14, 2009. In honor of the 2009 inauguration, the exhibition focuses on President Theodore Roosevelt’s 1905 inaugural parade and the six great chiefs who participated in the procession. The chiefs included Buckskin Charlie (Ute), American Horse (Oglala Sioux), Quanah Parker (Comanche), Geronimo (Chiricahua Apache), Hollow Horn Bear (Brule Sioux) and Little Plume (Piegan Blackfeet). The exhibition goes beyond the intent of President Roosevelt’s inaugural committee, which was to add color to the show. The six Native leaders had questions and actively sought President Roosevelt’s attention to their concerns, arriving with their own purposes in mind and representing the needs of their people. The exhibition remains open until Feb. 17, 2009.

MORTON, Minn. – Gripping a cane tightly, Ernest Wabasha slowly reached to touch a pair of heavy iron shackles hanging from his mantel – the same shackles his great-grandfather, the legendary Chief Wabasha, wore during a forced march across the southwestern Minnesota plains a century ago.

  A portrait of Chief Wabasha hung nearby, surrounded by the strong faces of the Wabasha line before and after. The most recent are photos of Ernest and his son, Wabasha No. 6 and No. 7.

Ernest Wabasha’s eyes are watery and his 73-year-old body is frail, but the proud lift of his chin and the straight line of his mouth echo the framed pictures of his Mdewakanton Dakota ancestors.

Wabasha’s band endured a bloody war and was stripped of its south-central territory in the last century, but in time they made their way back. Asked about the strength of the Dakota – why they were driven to return – Wabasha became quiet and started straight ahead.

"It all comes back to leadership," Wabasha said.

The Wabashas, the Goodthunders and the Bluestones are among the old names in new generations in the Lower Sioux Indian Community. Today’s Mdewakanton Dakota say they are renewing a commitment toward unearthing their past from these river bluffs and surrounding prairies.

"We are coming together as a group again, as a Mdewakanton tribe," said Jody Goodthunder, a council member and former chairman. "We are reverting back to our culture. A lot of our members are moving back to the old ways."

Read the rest of this entry »

Tiffany Eggenberg offers sensitive pastel portraits of contemporary individuals whom she evidently encountered on an annual march commemorating the Dakota’s 1862-63 incarceration near Fort Snelling.

One of the more troubling incidents in Minnesota history occurred in Mankato 146 years ago today when 38 Dakota Sioux Indians were hanged in the largest mass execution in U.S. history. Their deaths were the culmination of four months of warfare between the Dakota and white settlers in the Minnesota River Valley. Sparked by white incursion into Indian lands, the battles were fueled by the federal government’s violation of its own treaties, exploitation by traders who impounded payments due the Indians, retaliatory theft and slaughter by the Indians and subsequent atrocities on both sides.

Starvation, cultural differences, bounties, race hatred, disease and injustice contributed to

Read the rest of this entry »

http://www.whitebison.org/

FACES of RESISTANCE
GALLERY 7

HIGHWAY 55
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

36-37. Mary O’Brien, CSJ, John Harmon and Rita McDonald, CSJ, keep vigil with others across from the cottonwood tree wherein the remaining four environmental activists had “locked down” in their attempt to halt construction of the Highway 55 reroute and save the almost 100-year-old cottonwood – October 1999. Mary’s sign contains a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt: “I say to the young: Do not stop thinking of life as an adventure. You have no security unless you can live bravely, excitingly, imaginatively.”

38-39. Zach of the Objibway nation drums and chants support for activists “locked down” in the cottonwood tree which can be seen to bear the scars of attempts by cutting crews to remove the activists from its branches.

40. Theresa O’Brien, CSJ, braves the cold of an autumn afternoon to support the activists high atop the cottonwood. “I came to support the young people here who have a vision for the future – one that they struggle to be true to. Their vision encompasses all of us and the earth. It’s a vision of interdependence and respect for all things.”

41. Zach looks towards the strong police presence gathered at the base of the cottonwood tree and preventing any food or water reaching the activists within its sheltering branches. For the duration of the activists’ occupation of the cottonwood, supporters kept a 24 hour vigil across the street. After ten days, the last of the activists were forced from the tree. The cottonwood and several other surrounding trees were subsequently destroyed.

42. Susu Jeffrey, flanked by Mary Jo Iverson and James McNamara, holds an acorn from the felled Princess Oak – October 1999. Located above Minnehaha Falls, and south of Minnehaha Creek, the Princess Oak was one of several large bur oak that grew around the first railroad track connecting St. Paul and Minneapolis to the Falls.

43. Ken Pentel of the Green Party of Minnesota, expresses his outrage during an interview beside the felled Princess Oak – October 1999. Over 200-years-old, the Princess Oak was destroyed as MnDOT crews cut a swathe of destruction in their advance southwards towards the Four Oaks Spiritual Encampment.

44-45. By early November 1999, tree-cutting crews working for the Minnesota Department of Transportation (MnDOT) were felling trees south of the former Camp Two Pines. Activists prevented the immediate destruction of several trees by setting up camp high within their branches.

46. Jan from St. Paul places a lighted candle upon the stump of one of the trees destroyed by MnDOT. Referring to the destruction of the trees and to the activism of the young people from the encampment, Jan expressed her belief that “the hope for the whole is in the people and Earth. Not ‘the’ earth, but Earth. I will not objectify the planet. It is the common sense and insights of the people that are the gifts needed to restore all to wholeness.”

47. Emily – Four Oaks Spiritual Encampment, November 1999.

48-52. Under the shadow of MnDOT’s relentless approach, life at the Four Oaks Spiritual Encampment continued – with time even for celebration. In late November a birthday breakfast was held for longtime reroute opponent and encampment supporter, Susu. Among those celebrating were Solstice, Tree, John and David.

53. A member of the Four Oaks Spiritual Encampment offers prayers at the sacred fire within the sanctuary of the threatened grove of oaks – November 1999. As MnDOT destruction crews drew closer, the encampment began bracing itself for another police raid. On December 2, the Mendota Mdewakanton Dakota Community facilitated a special pipe ceremony at the four oaks. During the ceremony each tree was scaled by a climber who placed in their uppermost branches a sacred eagle feather – a powerful symbol of protection. One week later on December 9, an eviction notice was served to the occupants of the encampment.

54. The Four Oaks Spiritual Encampment – December 1999. With prospects of the destruction of the encampment and the four sacred oaks increasing daily, a commentary by Nick Raleigh was published in the alternative newspaper, Siren, which attempted to account for the failure of the many and varied efforts made to halt the reroute: “Lobbying the legislature, going to court, occupying houses slated for demolition, squatting in parks, and [people] chaining themselves to trees. So far, nothing has worked and the project continues. The outcome of the protest has left a number of people wondering what went wrong . . . Perhaps the best thing to blame is cultural imperialism.”

Raleigh goes on to clarify his analysis: “Cultural imperialism is what happens when a dominant group fails to recognize the validity of the interests, values and beliefs of other non-dominant groups. The colonial version looked something like this: a ship full of Europeans land in the ‘new’ world, encounter native people, declare the native people to be primitive and inferior to themselves, and exploit their land for all of its natural resources. The cultural imperialism faced by the Highway 55 protesters is more subtle. The dominant group here includes the common people of Minnesota and their decision-making institutions. The dominant group’s interests, values and beliefs are widely held as the norm. Using the norm, the dominant group has carelessly cast aside the critical viewpoints of others who do not fit its descriptions. The Highway 55 protesters were unable to stop the reroute because their values and interests didn’t match those of the dominant group. Because of this mismatch, their voice has been oppressed in the local media, MnDOT and the Legislative . . . [Such oppression has] shaped a general public sentiment that says the Highway 55 protest is both misguided and insignificant.”

55. Dawn at the Four Oaks Spiritual Encampment – Saturday, December 11, 1999. Even as this photograph was being taken, state troopers were swarming into the camp and surrounding a group of fifty protesters gathered at the four bur oaks.

56-59. Opponents of the reroute, including Kurt, Esther, Tom and Pepperwolf, had been called to the encampment during the early hours of December 11 after a tip-off of an imminent raid. Confirmation came at 5:00 a.m. when it was reported that state patrol cars and troopers were massing at MnDOT’s reroute depot. At 6:30 a.m. a large pile of wood used for construction at the camp and situated near the remnants of the labyrinth, was set ablaze.

60-61. As those present huddled together in the glow and warmth of the bonfire, Jim Anderson, Cultural Chair of the Mendota Mdewakanton Dakota, thanked them for their support throughout the encampment’s sixteen month history. The crowd then moved into the circle of the four sacred oaks as over one hundred state police dressed in riot gear entered the encampment at 7:00 a.m.

62-63. Surrounded by police, those gathered within the circle of the oaks were led in a ceremony by members of the Mendota Mdewakanton Dakota. The police respectfully allowed the ceremony, which involved drumming, singing, and words from Jim Anderson and Clyde Bellecourt, to be completed.

64-67. After the ceremony was completed those gathered were told that they could either leave the area without risk of arrest or remain and be arrested. About half of the group reluctantly chose to leave, including those present from the Mendota Mdewakanton Dakota Community. Those who remained, as well as several activists who were occupying surrounding trees, were arrested and removed from the encampment. A total of 33 people were arrested. Later that day as tepees and a sweat lodge were dismantled and removed from the area, the encampment’s kitchen and starlodge were leveled.

At 4:31 p.m., the four sacred oak trees were felled.

68-69. “. . . Native Americans have already lost enough to cultural imperialism. It is unjust for Minnesota to continue using a subtler version to rob local tribes of culturally significant land.” Nick Raleigh, December 1999.

70-71. Bob Brown and other members of the Mendota Mdewakanton Dakota Community observe the felled sacred oaks – Sunday, December 12, 1999. I find photograph 70 particularly poignant when recalling Bob’s deep love and respect for the trees and his role in introducing them and their significance to his people, to so many – myself included (see photograph 4).

Two weeks after these photographs were taken, Kurt Seaberg (picture 56) had a letter published in the Minneapolis Star Tribune: “Isn’t it interesting how the media collude with the institutions of power in denying the sacredness or significance of a place . . . The four oak trees that were cut down by the Minnesota Department of Transportation for Highway 55 were 137 years old and therefore, according to a December 17 article, ‘too young to have been significant in sacred American Indian ceremonies.’ If indeed the trees are 137 years old, that would mean they were planted in 1862, a date significant not only to Native Americans but all Minnesotans, as that was the year of the ill-fated Dakota conflict. It’s quite possible that the oaks were planted to heal the broken hearts and spirits of a people torn apart by that terrible war, which would make those trees very sacred and removal of them an unconscionable crime . . .”

PART 3

CONTENTS AND LINKS

INTRODUCTION
GALLERY 1 – FACES OF RESISTANCE

GALLERY 2 – CONFRONTING CORPORATE

GLOBALIZATION

GALLERY 3 – A16

GALLERY 4 – MAY DAY 2000

GALLERY 5 – RESPONDING TO THE CRISIS IN IRAQ

GALLERY 6 – CLOSING THE SCHOOL OF THE

AMERICAS

GALLERY 7 – HIGHWAY 55

GALLERY 8 – ALLIANT ACTION

Explanation of Native American Spirituality

“The Indian loved to worship. From birth to death, he revered his surroundings. He considered himself born in the luxurious lap of Mother Earth, and no place was to him humble. There was nothing between him and the Big Holy (Wakan Tanka). The contact was immediate and personal, and the blessings of Wakan Tanka flowed over the Indian like rain showered from the sky. Wakan Tanka was not aloof, apart, and ever seeking to quell evil forces. He did not punish the animals and the birds, and likewise, he did not punish man. He was not a punishing god. For there was never a question as to the supremacy of an evil power over and above the power of Good. There was but one ruling power, and that was Good.”

-Chief Luther Standing Bear -
Teton Sioux, Born 1868

By Blaine Kyllo

Propaganda Games was formed three years ago by a group of former Electronic Arts staffers. Within months, it was acquired by Buena Vista Games, now Disney Interactive Studios. In an interview with the Georgia Straight at Propaganda’s Vancouver offices, general manager and vice president Josh Holmes said the company had been working on an original concept for a third-person action game, but scrapped it when it won the right to develop the new Turok video game for Touchstone, a Disney brand.

The first Turok game—1997′s Turok: Dinosaur Hunter for the Nintendo 64—was one of the earliest first-person shooters produced for console gaming systems. Turok first appeared in a 1954 comic book in a story by Gaylord DuBois, who was known for writing outdoor-adventure comics about such characters as Tarzan, Roy Rogers, and Sergeant Preston of the Yukon. Turok changed over the years, depending on who was using him and for what purpose, but one thing has remained constant: Turok is a Native American.

“Reimagining is in vogue in entertainment today,” game director Joel Manners told the Straight. He cited Batman Begins and Battlestar Galactica as good examples of how characters have been reinvented. “There are really good stories that need to be retold in a way that is relevant to today,” Manners said. “There’s nothing irrelevant about dinosaurs,” which feature prominently in the new Turok game.

The development team was acutely aware that its protagonist was aboriginal. “It means a lot,” admitted Manners, “and it doesn’t mean anything.” The game, he explained, doesn’t make a point about heritage; it makes a point about heroism. In an effort to avoid clichés and stereotypes, Manners said, they simply treated the characters and the story with respect. “When you justify a character because of their heritage,” he said, “you have to be cautious.

“The fact that Turok is of one heritage or another is not important,” Manners continued. “He’s a hero. The heroism that he is displaying comes from his heritage, but it’s something anyone is capable of.”

Manners said the development group talked about other game genres in early meetings, but never seriously considered them. “The first-person perspective lends an intimacy. Having dinosaurs coming at you is central to the feeling of terror. It’s not as scary when you see creatures jumping on someone else.”

Propaganda, which increased its staff as it developed Turok, now employs about 150 people. Holmes said that in recent months, they’ve been organizing the company into two teams, and they’re already in preproduction on their next two titles, one of which is an action role-playing game. “We’d like to get to a point where we’ve got two games in production and one in concept,” he said. Propaganda won’t get much bigger than 200 employees, though, an optimal size for the studio, according to Holmes.

NATIVE AMERICAN HISTORY & CULTURE

Thsi page has Native American timelimes, documents, treaties, etc.

It also has information that is important and impacting to Native Americans.

It contains many good links to other Native American themed websites, including Native American art, history and  poetry

check it out here: http://www.teacheroz.com/Native_Americans.htm

Native American Ceremonies

Ceremony plays a vital, essential role in Native American religions. Whereas western religions typically consider ceremony the servant of theology, Native American religions barely recognize the distinction between myth and ritual.Often the ritual proves to be established and secure while the myth is vague and unclear. Indian ceremonies grew up within local groups; some elements of Indian ceremonials have been traced back to the Old World. The ceremonies were adapted locally, using both traditional and borrowed elements, to suit local needs. These ceremonies often began as practical actions.

Indians were eager to embrace ceremonies or portions of ceremonies that provided power to conquer the difficulties of life. As these practices developed, they were modified and imbued with additional meanings and purposes.

Apache:

• Ceremonial Dances
  • Rain Dance
  • Good Crop Dance
  • Harvest Dance
  • Spirit Dance

• Life Cycle Rites
  • Na’ii’es - Sunrise Ceremony (Female Puberty Rite)
    • The most important and frequent community ceremony. It normally takes place in the summer months of the year after a girl’s first menstruation.
  • First Steps Rite

Cherokee:

• Ceremonial Dances
  • Stomp Dance

Diegueño Indians (California)

• Ceremonial Dances
  • Awikunchi – A fair weather making ceremonial dance and song.

Lakota:

• The Seven Sacred Rites
  • The Sweat Lodge
  • The Vision Quest
  • Ghost Keeping
  • The Sun Dance
  • Making Relatives
  • Puberty Ceremony
  • Throwing the Ball

CLICK HERE FOR Native American Religions

Gods, Goddesses, Religions & Beliefs of the Native Americans

Native Beliefs share some common tendencies. Religion tends to be closely related to the natural world. The local terrain is elevated with supernatural meaning, and natural objects are imbued with sacred presences. Ceremonial rituals involving these supernatural-natural objects are meant to ensure communal and individual prosperity. These common underlying features unite a diversity of contemporary Native American sects.

CLICK HERE FOR NATIVE CEREMONIES

~ The Last Warrior ~

High on bleak, stony rag,

Unmoving, he sits astride

His ragged coated pony.

Only telltale frozen breaths,

Separate them from

The still, winter black boles

Of ancient leafless trees.

The pony, blown and lame,

Stands with lowered head,

Ears flattened to the sound

Of a distant wolf pack.

The man on his back,

All weapons lost,

Ignores the trickling blood

From savage wounds,

Mingling his war paint.

Eyes burning fiercely

He strains to find

The sign he seeks:

Behind, the sound of enemy

Draws ever closer.

At last, faith rewarded,

He sees far below

In the deep valley,

Arriving at the edge

Of the fast flowing river,

The great she bear

With two gamboling cubs:

To fish the racing salmon,

Drawn relentlessly toward

Their age-old spawning ground.

Silently, the wounded brave

Offers his final prayer

To the eternal clan bear;

Totem and guardian

Of his battle slain tribe.

The enemy, exultant,

Are almost upon him,

Yet he looks not behind:

He sees only the Great Spirit,

Surrounding him kindly

In loving, firm embrace.

While the enemy closes in,

He straightens himself;

His voice rings loud and clear,

Echoing across the land

To the distant cloudless sky.

One last defiant war cry

As he spurs on his pony,

And leaps…

Into the world of his ancestors.

W.J. Bruce

Often, around the fire in the long house of the Iroquois, during the Moon of the Long Nights, this tale is told.

Three Arrows was a boy of the Mohawk tribe. Although he had not yet seen fourteen winters he was already known among the Iroquois for his skill and daring. His arrows sped true to their mark. His name was given him when with three bone-tipped arrows he brought down three flying wild geese from the same flock. He could travel in the forest as softly as the south wind and he was a skillful hunter, but he never killed a bird or animal unless his clan needed food. He was well-versed in woodcraft, fleet of foot, and a clever wrestler. His people said, ‘Soon he will be a chief like his father.’

The sun shone strong in the heart of Three Arrows, because soon he would have to meet the test of strength and endurance through which the boys of his clan attained manhood. He had no fear of the outcome of the dream fast which was so soon to take. (to fast means to go without food or water)

Three Arrow’s father was a great chief and a good man, and the boy’s life had been patterned after that of his father.

When the grass was knee-high, Three Arrows left his village with his father. They climbed to a sacred place in the mountains. They found a narrow cave at the back of a little plateau. Here Three Arrows decided to live for his few days of prayer and vigil. He was not permitted to eat anything during the days and nights of his dream fast. He had no weapons, and his only clothing was a breechclout and moccasins. His father left the boy with the promise that he would visit him each day that the ceremony lasted, at dawn.

Three Arrows prayed to the Great Spirit. He begged that his clan spirit would soon appear in a dream and tell him what his guardian animal or bird was to be. When he knew this, he would adopt that bird or animal as his special guardian for the rest of his life. When the dream came he would be free to return to his people, his dream fast successfully achieved.

For five suns Three Arrows spent his days and nights on the rocky plateau, only climbing down to the little spring for water after each sunset. His heart was filled with a dark cloud because that morning his father had sadly warned him that the next day, the sixth sun, he must return to his village even if no dream had come to him in the night. This meant returning to his people in disgrace without the chance of taking another dream fast.

That night Tree Arrows, weak from hunger and weary from ceaseless watch, cried out to the Great Mystery. ‘O Great Spirit, have pity on him who stands humbly before Thee. Let his clan spirit or a sign from beyond the thunderbird come to him before tomorrow’s sunrise, if it be Thy will.’

As he prayed, the wind suddenly veered from east too north. This cheered Three Arrows because the wind was now the wind of the great bear, and the bear was the totem of his clan. When he entered the cavern he smelled for the first time the unmistakable odour of a bear. This was strong medicine.

He crouched at the opening of the cave, too excited to lie down although his tire body craved rest. As he gazed out into the night he heard the rumble of thunder, saw the lightning flash, and felt the fierce breath of the wind from the north. Suddenly a vision came to him, and a gigantic bear stood beside him in the cave. Then Three Arrows heard it say, ‘Listen well, Mohawk. Your clan spirit has heard your prayer. Tonight you will learn a great mystery which will bring help and gladness to all your people.’

A terrible clash of thunder brought the dazed boy to his feet as the bear disappeared. He looked from the cave just as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky in the form of a blazing arrow. Was this the sign from the thunderbird ?

Suddenly the air was filled with a fearful sound. A shrill shrieking came from the ledge just above the cave. It sounded as though mountain lions fought in the storm; yet Three Arrows felt no fear as he climbed toward the ledge. As his keen eyes grew accustomed to the dim light he saw that the force of the wind was causing two young balsam trees to rub violently against each other. The strange noise was caused by friction, and as he listened and watched fear filled his heart, for, from where the two trees rubbed together a flash of lightning show smoke. Fascinated, he watched until flickers of flames followed the smoke.

Three Arrows had never seen fire of any kind at close range nor had any of his people. He scrambled down to the cave and covered his eyes in dread of this strange magic. Then he smelt bear again and he thought of his vision, his clan spirit, the bear, and its message. This was the mystery which he was to reveal to his people. The blazing arrow in the sky was to be his totem, and his new name – Blazing Arrow.

At daybreak, Blazing Arrow climbed onto the ledge and broke two dried sticks from what remained of one of the balsams. He rubbed them violently together, but nothing happened. ‘The magic is too powerful for me,’ he thought.

Then a picture of his clan and village formed in his mind, and he patiently rubbed the hot sticks together again. His will power took the place of his tired muscles. Soon a little wisp of smoke greeted his renewed efforts, then came a bright spark on one of the stick. Blazing Arrow waved it as he had seen the fiery arrow wave in the night sky. A resinous blister on the stick glowed, then flamed.

Fire had come to the Six Nations!

As Told By Glenn Welker

Long, long ago, the Hopis were greatly troubled by the wind. It blew and blew and blew and blew–all the time. The Hopis planted their crops, but before the seeds could begin to sprout, the wind blew the soil and seeds away. Unhappy and worried, all the people made prayer offerings of many kinds. But they accomplished nothing.

The old men held councils in their kivas. They smoked their pipes prayerfully and asked one another, “Why do the gods turn such strong winds upon us?” After a while, they decided to ask for help from the “Little Fellows” who were the two little War Gods, two of the five grandsons of Spider Woman.

“Why did you ask us to come?” was their first question.

“We need your help,” answered the old men. “Something must be done to the Wind.”

“We will see what we can do for you,” said the Little Fellows. “You stay here and make many more prayer offerings.”

The Hopis make many kinds of prayer offerings–as many as there are prayers, and there are prayers for every occasion in life and death. They are reverently fashioned of various types of feathers, carved and painted sticks, and hand-spun cotton yarn.

The Little Fellows went first to their wise old grandmother, Spider Woman. They asked her to make some sweet cornmeal mush for them to take along on a journey. Of course they knew who the Wind God was and knew that he lived over near Sunset Mountain in the big crack of the black rock.

When Spider Woman had the cornmeal mush ready, the Little Fellows came back to the kiva where the men were holding their council. The prayer offerings were ready and also the ball that the Little Fellows like to take with them wherever they went. They liked to play catch with it.

The men made bows and arrows for them to take on their journey which seemed much like going on a war party. The arrows were tipped with bluebird feathers, thought to be more powerful than any other kinds of feathers.

The two Little Fellows started toward the San Francisco Peaks. The old men went along until they reached the Little Colorado River, and there they sat down and smoked their pipes. The smoking of tobacco among the Hopis, as among many other tribes, is strictly ceremonial. The sacred smoke carried the prayers of the Hopis to their Gods.

Continuing their journey, the two Little Fellows played catch- ball from time to time. On the fourth day they reached the home of the Wind God who lived at the foot of Sunset Crater, in a big crack in the black rock. There he breathed through the crack, as he does to this day. The Little Fellows threw the prayer offerings into the crack and hastily put their old grandmother’s sticky cornmeal mush into and over the crack, and thus sealed the Wind God’s door. Phew–he became very angry, so angry that he blew and blew and blew, but could not get out. The Little Fellows laughed and laughed and then went home, feeling very proud of themselves and of what they had done.

But after a while, the people in the villages began to feel very hot. Every day the weather became hotter and hotter. People came out of their homes and stood on housetops to look toward the San Francisco Peaks, to see if any clouds were coming their way. But they did not see even a wisp of a cloud, and they seemed not to feel a breath of air. They thought they would suffocate.

“We must do something right away,” everyone said or thought. So the men made some more prayer offerings and called the two Little Fellows again. “Please go back to the House of the Wind God at once and tell him that there must be peace between us. Then give him these prayer offerings and let him out. This heat is much worse than the wind.”

The Little Fellows replied, “We will go and see what we can do with the Wind God to make life more comfortable for you.”

After four days, they arrived at the House of Yaponcha–the House of the Wind God. The Little Fellows decided that the wisest thing to do would be to let the Wind God have a small hole open–just enough to let him breathe through but not enough for him to come out of the crack in the black rock.

So they took a little of the cornmeal mush out of the crack. Immediately, a nice cool breeze came out and a small white cloud appeared. It floated over across the desert toward the Hopi villages.

When the Little Fellows reached home, everyone was pleased. The Hopis have been grateful to the Little Fellows ever since. The winds have been perfect–just strong enough to keep the people happy but not strong enough to blow everything away.

Every since then, every year in the windy month of March, the chiefs and the high priests of the three villages on the Second Mesa give prayer offerings to the Wind God, Yaponcha.

Long, long ago, animals and trees talked with each other, but there was no fire at that time.Fox was most clever and he tried to think of a way to create fire for the world. One day, he decided to visit the Geese, te-tl, whose cry he wished to learn how to imitate. They promised to teach him if he would fly with them. So they contrived a way to attach wings to Fox, but cautioned him never to open his eyes while flying.
Whenever the Geese arose in flight, Fox also flew along with them to practice their cry. On one such adventure, darkness descended suddenly as they flew over the village of the fireflies, ko-na- tcic-a. In midflight, the glare from the flickering fireflies caused Fox to forget and he opened his eyes–instantly his wings collapsed! His fall was uncontrollable. He landed within the walled area of the firefly village, where a fire constantly burned in the centre.

Two kind fireflies came to see fallen Fox, who gave each one a necklace of juniper berries, katl-te-i-tse.

Fox hoped to persuade the two fireflies to tell him where he could find a way over the wall to the outside. They led him to a cedar tree, which they explained would bend down upon command and catapult him over the wall if he so desired.
That evening, Fox found the spring where fireflies obtained their water. There also, he discovered coloured earth, which when mixed with water made paint. He decided to give himself a coat of white. Upon returning to the village, Fox suggested to the fireflies, “Let’s have a festival where we can dance and I will produce the music.”

They all agreed that would be fun and helped to gather wood to build up a greater fire. Secretly, Fox tied a piece of cedar bark to his tail. Then he made a drum, probably the first one ever constructed, and beat it vigorously with a stick for the dancing fireflies. Gradually, he moved closer and closer to the fire.

Fox pretended to tire from beating the drum. He gave it to some fireflies who wanted to help make the music. Fox quickly thrust his tail into the fire, lighting the bark, and exclaimed, “It is too warm here for me, I must find a cooler place.”

Straight to the cedar tree Fox ran, calling, “Bend down to me, my cedar tree, bend down!”
Down bent the cedar tree for Fox to catch hold, then up it carried him far over the wall. On and on he ran, with the fireflies in pursuit.
As Fox ran along, brush and wood on either side of his path were ignited from the sparks dropping from the burning bark tied to his tail.

Fox finally tired and gave the burning bark to Hawk, i-tsarl-tsu- i, who carried it to brown Crane, tsi-nes-tso-l. He flew far southward, scattering fire sparks everywhere. This is how fire first spread over the earth.

Fireflies continued chasing Fox all the way to his burrow and declared, “Forever after, Wily Fox, your punishment for stealing our fire will be that you can never make use of it for yourself.”

For the Apache nation, this too was the beginning of fire for them. Soon they learned to use it for cooking their food and to keep themselves warm in cold weather.

Apache, The Story of Creation

In the beginning nothing existed–no earth, no sky, no sun, no moon, only darkness was everywhere.

Suddenly from the darkness emerged a thin disc, one side yellow and the other side white, appearing suspended in midair. Within the disc sat a small bearded man, Creator, the One Who Lives Above. As if waking from a long nap, he rubbed his eyes and face with both hands.

When he looked into the endless darkness, light appeared above. He looked down and it became a sea of light. To the east, he created yellow streaks of dawn. To the west, tints of many colours appeared everywhere. There were also clouds of different colours.

Creator wiped his sweating face and rubbed his hands together, thrusting them downward. Behold! A shining cloud upon which sat a little girl.

“Stand up and tell me where are you going,” said Creator. But she did not reply. He rubbed his eyes again and offered his right hand to the Girl-Without-Parents.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, grasping his hand.

“From the east where it is now light,” he replied, stepping upon her cloud.

“Where is the earth?” she asked.

“Where is the sky?” he asked, and sang, “I am thinking, thinking, thinking what I shall create next.” He sang four times, which was the magic number.

Creator brushed his face with his hands, rubbed them together, then flung them wide open! Before them stood Sun-God. Again Creator rubbed his sweaty brow and from his hands dropped Small- Boy.

All four gods sat in deep thought upon the small cloud.

“What shall we make next?” asked Creator. “This cloud is much too small for us to live upon.”

Then he created Tarantula, Big Dipper, Wind, Lightning-Maker, and some western clouds in which to house Lightning-Rumbler, which he just finished.

Creator sang, “Let us make earth. I am thinking of the earth, earth, earth; I am thinking of the earth,” he sang four times.

All four gods shook hands. In doing so, their sweat mixed together and Creator rubbed his palms, from which fell a small round, brown ball, not much larger than a bean.

Creator kicked it, and it expanded. Girl-Without-Parents kicked the ball, and it enlarged more. Sun-God and Small-Boy took turns giving it hard kicks, and each time the ball expanded. Creator told Wind to go inside the ball and to blow it up.

Tarantula spun a black cord and, attaching it to the ball, crawled away fast to the east, pulling on the cord with all his strength. Tarantula repeated with a blue cord to the south, a yellow cord to the west, and a white cord to the north. With mighty pulls in each direction, the brown ball stretched to immeasurable size–it became the earth! No hills, mountains, or rivers were visible; only smooth, treeless, brown plains appeared.

Creator scratched his chest and rubbed his fingers together and there appeared Hummingbird.

“Fly north, south, east, and west and tell us what you see,” said Creator.

“All is well,” reported Hummingbird upon his return. “The earth is most beautiful, with water on the west side.”

But the earth kept rolling and dancing up and down. So Creator made four giant posts–black, blue, yellow, and white to support the earth. Wind carried the four posts, placing them beneath the four cardinal points of the earth. The earth sat still.

Creator sang, “World is now made and now sits still,” which he repeated four times.

Then he began a song about the sky. None existed, but he thought there should be one. After singing about it four times, twenty- eight people appeared to help make a sky above the earth. Creator chanted about making chiefs for the earth and sky.

He sent Lightning-Maker to encircle the world, and he returned with three uncouth creatures, two girls and a boy found in a turquoise shell. They had no eyes, ears, hair, mouths, noses, or teeth. They had arms and legs, but no fingers or toes.

Sun-God sent for Fly to come and build a sweathouse. Girl- Without-Parents covered it with four heavy clouds. In front of the east doorway she placed a soft, red cloud for a foot-blanket to be used after the sweat.

Four stones were heated by the fire inside the sweathouse. The three uncouth creatures were placed inside. The others sang songs of healing on the outside, until it was time for the sweat to be finished. Out came the three strangers who stood upon the magic red cloud-blanket. Creator then shook his hands toward them, giving each one fingers, toes, mouths, eyes, ears, noses and hair.

Creator named the boy, Sky-Boy, to be chief of the Sky-People. One girl he named Earth-Daughter, to take charge of the earth and its crops. The other girl he named Pollen-Girl, and gave her charge of health care for all Earth-People.

Since the earth was flat and barren, Creator thought it fun to create animals, birds, trees, and a hill. He sent Pigeon to see how the world looked. Four days later, he returned and reported, “All is beautiful around the world. But four days from now, the water on the other side of the earth will rise and cause a mighty flood.”

Creator made a very tall pinon tree. Girl-Without-Parents covered the tree framework with pinon gum, creating a large, tight ball.

In four days, the flood occurred. Creator went up on a cloud, taking his twenty-eight helpers with him. Girl-Without-Parents put the others into the large, hollow ball, closing it tight at the top.

In twelve days, the water receded, leaving the float-ball high on a hilltop. The rushing floodwater changed the plains into mountains, hills, valleys, and rivers. Girl-Without-Parents led the gods out from the float-ball onto the new earth. She took them upon her cloud, drifting upward until they met Creator with his helpers, who had completed their work making the sky during the flood time on earth.

Together the two clouds descended to a valley below. There, Girl- Without-Parents gathered everyone together to listen to Creator.

“I am planning to leave you,” he said. “I wish each of you to do your best toward making a perfect, happy world.

“You, Lightning-Rumbler, shall have charge of clouds and water.

“You, Sky-Boy, look after all Sky-People.

“You, Earth-Daughter, take charge of all crops and Earth-People.

“You, Pollen-Girl, care for their health and guide them.

“You, Girl-Without-Parents, I leave you in charge over all.”

Creator then turned toward Girl-Without-Parents and together they rubbed their legs with their hands and quickly cast them forcefully downward. Immediately between them arose a great pile of wood, over which Creator waved a hand, creating fire.

Great billowy clouds of smoke at once drifted skyward. Into this cloud, Creator disappeared. The other gods followed him in other clouds of smoke, leaving the twenty-eight workers to people the earth.

Sun-God went east to live and travel with the Sun. Girl-Without- Parents departed westward to live on the far horizon. Small-Boy and Pollen-Girl made cloud homes in the south. Big Dipper can still be seen in the northern sky at night, a reliable guide to all.

——————————————————————————–
Traditional Blackfoot story of How the Buffalo Dance was given to the people.
——————————————————————————–

When the buffalo first came to be upon the land, they were not friendly to the people. When the hunters tried to coax them over the cliffs for the good of the villages, they were reluctant to offer themselves up. They did not relish being turned into blankets and dried flesh for winter rations. They did not want their hooves and horn to become tools and utinsels nor did they welcome their sinew being used for sewing. “No, no,” they said. We won’t fall into your traps. And we will not fall for your tricks.” So when the hunters guided them towards the abyss, they would always turn aside at the very last moment. With this lack of cooperation, it seemed the villagers would be hungry and cold and ragged all winter long.
Now one of the hunters’ had a daughter who was very proud of her father’s skill with the bow. During the fullness of summer, he always brought her the best of hides to dress, and she in turn would work the deerskins into the softest, whitest of garments for him to wear. Her own dresses were like the down of a snow goose, and the moccasins she made for the children and the grandmothers in the village were the most welcome of gifts.
But now with the hint of snow on the wind, and deer becoming more scarce in the willow breaks, she could see this reluctance on the part of the buffalo families could become a real problem.
Hunter’s Daughter decided she would do something about it.
She went to the base of the cliff and looked up. She began to sing in a low, soft voice, “Oh, buffalo family, come down and visit me. If you come down and feed my relatives in a wedding feast, I will join your family as the bride of your strongest warrior.”
She stopped and listened. She thought she heard the slight rumbling sound of thunder in the distance.
Again she sang, “Oh, buffalo family, come down and visit me. Feed my family in a wedding feast so that I may be a bride.”
The thunder was much louder now. Suddenly the buffalo family began falling from the sky at her feet.
One very large bull landed on top of the others, and walked across the backs of his relatives to stand before Hunter’s Daughter.
“I am here to claim you as my bride,” said Large Buffalo.
“Oh, but now I am afraid to go with you,” said Hunter’s Daughter.
“Ah, but you must,” said Large Buffalo, “For my people have come to provide your people with a wedding feast. As you can see, they have offered themselves up.”
“Yes, but I must run and tell my relatives the good news,” said Hunter’s Daughter. “No,” said Large Buffalo. No word need be sent. You are not getting away so easily.”
And with that said, Large Buffalo lifted her between his horns and carried her off to his village in the rolling grass hills.
The next morning the whole village was out looking for Hunter’s Daughter. When they found the mound of buffalo below the cliff, the father, who was in fact a fine tracker as well as a skilled hunter, looked at his daughter’s footprints in the dust.
“She’s gone off with a buffalo, he said. I shall follow them and bring her back.”
So Hunter walked out upon the plains, with only his bow and arrows as companions. He walked and walked a great distance until he was so tired that he had to sit down to rest beside a buffalo wallow.
Along came Magpie and sat down beside him.
Hunter spoke to Magpie in a respectful tone, “O knowledgeable bird, has my daughter been stolen from me by a buffalo? Have you seen them? Can you tell me where they have gone?”
Magpie replied with understanding, “Yes, I have seen them pass this way. They are resting just over this hill.”
“Well,” said Hunter, would you kindly take my daughter a message for me? Will you tell her I am here just over the hill?”
So Magpie flew to where Large Buffalo lay asleep amidst his relatives in the dry prairie grass. He hopped over to where Hunter’s Daughter was quilling moccasins, as she sat dutifully beside her sleeping husband. “Your father is waiting for you on the other side of the hill,” whispered Magpie to the maiden.
“Oh, this is very dangerous,” she told him. These buffalo are not friendly to us and they might try to hurt my father if he should come this way. Please tell him to wait for me and I will try to slip away to see him.”
Just then her husband, Large Buffalo, awoke and took off his horn. “Go bring me a drink from the wallow just over this hill,” said her husband.
So she took the horn in her hand and walked very casually over the hill.
Her father motioned silently for her to come with him, as he bent into a low crouch in the grass. “No,” she whispered. The buffalo are angry with our people who have killed their people. They will run after us and trample us into the dirt. I will go back and see what I can do to soothe their feelings.”
And so Hunter’s daughter took the horn of water back to her husband who gave a loud snort when he took a drink. The snort turned into a bellow and all of the buffalo got up in alarm. They all put their tails in the air and danced a buffalo dance over the hill, trampling the poor man to pieces who was still waiting for his daughter near the buffalo wallow.
His daughter sat down on the edge of the wallow and broke into tears.
“Why are you crying?” said her buffalo husband.
“You have killed my father and I am a prisoner, besides,” she sobbed.
“Well, what of my people?” her husband replied. We have given our children, our parents and some of our wives up to your relatives in exchange for your presence among us. A deal is a deal.”
But after some consideration of her feelings, Large Buffalo knelt down beside her and said to her, “If you can bring your father back to life again, we will let him take you back home to your people.”
So Hunter’s Daughter started to sing a little song. “Magpie, Magpie help me find some piece of my father which I can mend back whole again.”
Magpie appeared and sat down in front of her with his head cocked to the side.
“Magpie, Magpie, please see what you can find,” she sang softly to the wind which bent the grasses slightly apart. Magpie cocked his head to the side and looked carefully within the layered folds of the grasses as the wind sighed again. Quickly he picked out a piece of her father that had been hidden there, a little bit of bone.
“That will be enough to do the trick,” said Hunter’s Daughter, as she put the bone on the ground and covered it with her blanket.
And then she started to sing a reviving song that had the power to bring injured people back to the land of the living. Quietly she sang the song that her grandmother had taught her. After a few melodious passages, there was a lump under the blanket. She and Magpie looked under the blanket and could see a man, but the man was not breathing. He lay cold as stone. So Hunter’s Daughter continued to sing, a little softer, and a little softer, so as not to startle her father as he began to move. When he stood up, alive and strong, the buffalo people were amazed. They said to Hunter’s Daughter, “Will you sing this song for us after every hunt? We will teach your people the buffalo dance, so that whenever you dance before the hunt, you will be assured a good result. Then you will sing this song for us, and we will all come back to live again.”

Apache: How the Buffalo Were Released on Earth

——————————————————————————–
In the first days a powerful being named Humpback owned all the buffalo. He kept them in a corral in the mountains north of San Juan, where he lived with his young son. Not one buffalo would Humpback release for the people on earth, nor would he share any meat with those who lived near him.

Coyote decided that something should be done to release the buffalo from Humpback’s corral. He called the people to a council. “Humpback will not give us any buffalo,” Coyote said. “Let us all go over to his corral and make a plan to release them.”

They camped in the mountains near Humpback’s place, and after dark they made a careful inspection of his buffalo enclosure. The stone walls were too high to climb, and the only entrance was through the back door of Humpback’s house.

After four days Coyote summoned the people to another council, and asked them to offer suggestions for releasing the buffalo. “There is no way,” said one man. “To release the buffalo we must go into Humpback’s house, and he is too powerful a being for us to do that.”

“I have a plan,” Coyote said. “For four days we have secretly watched Humpback and his young son go about their daily activities. Have you not observed that the boy does not own a pet of any kind?”

The people did not understand what this had to do with releasing the buffalo, but they knew that Coyote was a great schemer and they waited for him to explain. “I shall change myself into a killdeer,” Coyote said. “In the morning when Humpback’s son goes down to the spring to get water, he will find a killdeer with a broken wing. He will want this bird for a pet and will take it back into the house. Once I am in the house I can fly into the corral, and the cries of a killdeer will frighten the buffalo into a stampede. They will come charging out through Humpback’s house and be released upon the earth.”

The people thought this was a good plan, and the next Morning when Humpback’s son came down the path to the spring he found a killdeer with a crippled wing. As Coyote had foreseen, the boy picked up the bird and carried it into the house.

“Look here,” the boy cried. “This is a very good bird!”

“It is good for nothing!” Humpback shouted. “All the birds and animals and people are rascals and schemers.” Above his fierce nose Humpback wore a blue mask, and through its slits his eyes glittered. His basket headdress was shaped like a cloud and was painted black with a zig-zag streak of yellow to represent lightning. Buffalo horns protruded from the sides.

“It is a very good bird,” the boy repeated.

“Take it back where you found it!” roared Humpback, and his frightened son did as he was told.

As soon as the killdeer was released it returned to where the people were camped and changed back to Coyote. “I have failed,” he said, “but that makes no difference. I will try again in the morning. Perhaps a small animal will be better than a bird.”

The next morning when Humpback’s son went to the spring, he found a small dog there, lapping at the water. The boy picked up the dog at once and hurried back into the house. “Look here!” he cried. “What a nice pet I have.”

“How foolish you are, boy!” Humpback growled. “A dog is good for nothing. I’ll kill it with my club.”

The boy held tight to the dog, and started to run away crying.

“Oh, very well,” Humpback said. “But first let me test that animal to make certain it is a dog. All animals in the world are schemers.” He took a coal of fire from the hearth and brought it closer and closer to the dog’s eyes until it gave three rapid barks. “It is a real dog,” Humpback declared. “You may keep it in the buffalo corral, but not in the house.”

This of course was exactly what Coyote wanted. As soon as darkness fell and Humpback and his son went to sleep, Coyote opened the back door of the house. Then he ran among the buffalo, barking as loud as he could. The buffalo were badly frightened because they had never before heard a dog bark. When Coyote ran nipping at their heels, they stampeded toward Humpback’s house and entered the rear door. The pounding of their hooves awakened Humpback, and although he jumped out of bed and tried to stop them, the buffalo smashed down his front door and escaped.

After the last of the shaggy animals had galloped away, Humpback’s son could not find his small dog. “Where is my pet?” he cried. “Where is my little dog?”

“That was no dog,” Humpback said sadly. “That was Coyote the Trickster. He has turned loose all our buffalo.”

Thus it was that the buffalo were released to scatter over all the earth.

Windigo

Ojibwa First Nation
retold by
S. E. Schlosser

The storm lasted so long that they thought they would starve. Finally, when the wind and swirling snow had died away to just a memory, the father, who was a brave warrior, ventured outside. The next storm was already on the horizon, but if food was not found soon, the family would starve.

Keeping his knife and spear close, he ventured out upon the most-frequently used game trail, watching intently for some sign, in the newly-fallen snow, of animal footprints or movement of any kind. The forest lay deep and oddly silent under its gleaming coating of ice and snow. Every creature of sense lay deep within its burrow and slept. Still, the warrior hunted, knowing how desperate his family had become.

As he moved through the eerie stillness, broken only by the soft caress of the wind, he heard a strange hissing noise. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once. The warrior stopped, his heart pounding. That was when he saw the blood-soaked footprints appearing on the path in front of him. He gripped his knife tightly, knowing that somewhere, watching him, was a Windigo.

He had learned about the Windigo at his father’s knee. It was a large creature, as tall as a tree, with a lipless mouth and jagged teeth. Its breath was a strange hiss, its footprints full of blood, and it ate any man, woman or child who ventured into its territory. And those were the lucky ones. Sometimes, the Windigo chose to possess a person instead, and then the luckless individual became a Windigo himself, hunting down those he had once loved and feasting upon their flesh.

The warrior knew he would have just one chance to prevail over the Windigo. After that, he would die. Or… the thought was too terrible to complete.

Slowly, he backed away from the bloody footprints, listening to the hissing sound. Was it stronger in one direction? He gripped spear in one hand, knife in the other. Then the snowbank to his left erupted as a creature as tall as a tree leapt out at him. He dove to one side, rolling into the snow so that his clothing was covered and he became hard to see in the gray twilight of the approaching storm.

The Windigo whirled its massive frame and the warrior threw the spear. It struck the creature’s chest, but the Windigo just shook it off as if it were a toy. The warrior crouched behind a small tree as the creature searched the torn-up snow for a trace of him. Perhaps one more chance.

The Windigo loomed over his hiding place, its sharp eyes seeing the outline of him against the tree. It bend down, long arms reaching. The warrior leapt forward as if to embrace the creature and thrust his knife into its fathomless black eye. The Windigo howled in pain as the blade of the knife sliced into its brain cavity. It tried to pull him off of its chest, but the warrior clung to the creature, stabbing it again and again in the eyes, the head.

The Windigo collapsed to the ground, bleeding profusely, almost crushing the warrior beneath its bulk. He pulled himself loose and stared at the creature, which blended in with its white surroundings so well that he would not have seen it save for the blood pouring from its eyes and ears and scalp. Then the outline of the creature grew misty and it vanished, leaving only a pool of blood to indicate where it had fallen.

Shaken, the warrior, heart pounding with fear and fatigue, turned for home. He was weakened by lack of food, but knew that the storm would break soon and he would die if he did not seek shelter.

At the edge of the wood, he found himself face to face with a red fox. It was a fat old creature, its muzzle lined with gray. The creature stood still, as if it had been brought to him as a reward for killing the Windigo. With a prayer of thanksgiving, the warrior killed the fox and took it home to his starving family. The meat lasted for many days, until the final storm had blown itself out and the warrior could safely hunt once more.